Mateo Hayes, forty-one.
Retired professional baseball catcher looking for his next home run.
Four more apps later, and I'm fucking irritated. I can't be anonymous on any of them. It makes sense, for safety reasons and all that, but it doesn't suck any less.
What a shitshow I am. I can't fucking move, or drive, or sign up for a stupid fucking dating app to stop thinking about the one woman I can't have.
I wanted to get caught in the rain, but it seems as though I'm in a drought.
Chapter six
Jade
Fallen leaves skitter across the quad. It's windy today, and I pull my jacket around me a little tighter, crossing my arms to brace from the cold. This weather can't seem to decide what it wants to do lately. I should be thankful it's not raining like the forecast predicted.
Rainy days on campus are the worst. Every lecture hall feels wet from someone else's umbrella or soggy hoodie. And the dining commons, gross. I avoid it on rainy days. I learned that lesson early.
Today the dining common is busy, but quiet. Exactly the way I like it. It allows me to people-watch and remain unnoticed. I can usually find an empty table in a corner and at least pretend to mind my own business.
What can I say? I don't want to be part of the drama, but I want to know all of it.
I'm not the kind of person to get lost in my phone, so what else can I do?
After snagging a bowl of soup and a Red Bull, I take a seat at an empty table along the stretch of windows overlooking the quad. The food here is inexpensive, which, considering how much college costs, even a community one like this, is surprising. But it's delicious and I never feel bad about eating here. I even bring Coop to have dinner once a week or so.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I open the text.
Addie
Do you know how to drive stick?
Yeah? It's been years though.
We'll add that to the list of pros under my ex's name. It's listed below the only other thing in that column, Cooper.
Addie
I need you to teach me.
Why? And with what car?
Addie
So I can drive in Ireland.
???
She doesn't answer me. Guess I'll find out later.
As the clock ticks past noon, the hall fills up faster. I've got several years on most of the students, but there's a handful myage and older. A vast majority of them in the nursing program like me probably all seeking the same thing. Stability.
The kids straight out of high school are boisterous, stealing most of my attention. They sit in groups, the one closest to me loud enough to hear. It's mostly gossip about some party over the weekend—who threw up and who hooked up with whom. The two girls in the group finish their coffees and take off saying something about class. One guy follows, opening the door for them. My gaze follows them out the window as he walks hand in hand with one of the girls.
Fucking hell.
Coop's hand is the last one I held, and I'm okay if it's the only one for the rest of my life.
Holding hands is intimate; it indicates feelings. I don't need feelings. Feelings never lead to anything good. They only open the door to pain. I'll pass, please and thank you. The last thing I want is for my pain, my trauma, to affect Coop. He's only a kid.
